Blink
by Lyra Silvertongue2
Summary: A case in New Orleans has Mulder thinking about his relationship with Scully. Okay, so I suck at summaries. It's funny, and a romance, what more do you need to know? Chapter four's up!
1. Notes

Credit for help with the plot of this story goes to my step-brother, Pierre, who, in a fervent brain-storming session, suggested numerous times that Mulder eat cookies and milk. Thank you, Pierre.  
  
Disclaimer: If I owned it, the ending would have been better. However, I don't own it. So, we wind up with this.  
  
Forbidden words and phrases in this story (a reminder to myself, really, but I thought you would want to know, at least to get yer yuks out):   
-the word 'strong' in reference to *any* part of Mulder's body  
-'hazel'  
-'clear blue eyes'  
-'delicate' in reference to *any* part of Scully's body  
-'love' spoken by Mulder or Scully, at least not in reference to each other  
-'sunflower seeds'  
-'stars' in reference to gazing up at them in wonder  
-'baseball' in reference to the events in _The Unnatural_  
-'bubble bath' in reference to Scully taking one  
-'porn' or anything to do with it  
-'children' in reference to Scully having any  
-'conversation hearts'  
-'a dozen roses'  
  
Forbidden situations:  
-Mulder asleep in front of sci-fi B-movies  
-Valentines. 'Nuff said.  
-Endless car rides  
-Mulder and Scully talking in bed (at least in the *same* bed)  
-Mulder and Scully at an FBI social, if such a thing exists  
-Scully wearing a formal gown  
-Christmas  
-Hospital rooms  
-Conversations about religion  
-appearances by one Cigarette Smoking Man  
-appearances by one Alex Krycek  
-appearances by any of the following: Mr. X, Deep Throat, Jeffrey Spender, A.D. Skinner (unless on the phone), A.D. Kirsch, Agents Doggett or Reyes in any earlier form, any of Scully or Mulder's former lovers (including Phoebe Green and Diana Fowley), and no appearances by Betsy Hagopian or similar abductees  
And there is a strict limit of *only one flashback.*  
  
Author's notes: I want to thank the people who have already given me feedback: thanks, guys! You've inspired me to write. This story is to be set before Emily, after Pusher. Somewhere in there. Anyone lost by my ridiculous notes can just go do a Google Search on X-Files--if you already know some stuff about X-Files and want to know more specifics, try www.insidethex.co.uk--awesome site. Thank you again, and enjoy. 


	2. Prologue: Blink

"Sorry I'm late, Scully, but I stopped to–whoa." Mulder walked into his basement office to find a stack of furniture and woman atop his desk at the center of the room. At the bottom of the pile sat the grey hulking thing around which the room centered, then came a solid wooden chair, and finally Scully herself, working intently on the light fixture.  
"You stopped to what, Mulder?" she prompted after a few seconds of stunned silence, not pausing in her activities.  
"What are you doing?"  
"I finally got fed up with the–unh–" she twisted the large bulb loose from the ceiling "–lighting arrangement in here, so I decided to change it. Where did you stop?" She didn't miss a beat.  
"Uh," he stated, looking down at the small crumpled bag in his hand. "Cookies. I got you one, too."  
"Thanks." Glancing over her shoulder at him, she said irritably, "You can come inside, Mulder."  
"Oh. Sure." He stepped through the door and closed it behind him, searching for a place to set his bag down. He settled on the top of the file cabinet, then turned to Scully, wondering what to do. "So what brought about this–sudden urge to change the light fixture?"  
"It's hardly sudden," she began climbing down with some difficulty, holding the old fixture carefully to her breast as she descended.  
"Here," he took it from her, glad to be of some use, and handed her the new one. She stood back up and became immediately focused on the ceiling again.  
"Thanks. I asked you last month to make it a little brighter in here, and you said you'd think about it." Glaring at him, she twisted a metal piece into place in the ceiling. "I guess you haven't thought about it."  
"No, I–I have. I guess I was just afraid you would find me too attractive under a brighter light–that you wouldn't be able to hold back any longer. Was I wrong?"  
Scully chuckled into the arm against which her mouth was pressed. "No, of course not, Mulder." Another glance was shot over her shoulder, and he could see the amusement in her eyes. "But I want to take that step. Who knows–maybe I'll be so blinded by your...your masculinity I'll have to fling myself at you."  
"Ooh, then let me help you with that light." Grinning, he began to climb onto the desk to stand beside her, but was cut off with a--  
"No. I'll finish this myself, okay?" Suddenly serious again. Mulder shrank back, disappointed.  
"Okay."  
There was a longish pause. Then Scully said, "I guess I just wanted to break up the monotony a bit." Mulder had an undeniable urge to protest against this claim of 'monotony,' but she could see it, still fixated on the light, so she continued. "Considering that we just finished that case, I knew we were going to have to dig through the files for something else to do. I wanted–I want to be able to *see* the files this time." She paused again. "Did you get the rulings back from court?"  
"Yeah. Ms. Carlson and her cronies got twenty-to-life." He heard a faint sigh from overhead.  
"There." Her arms lowered. "Finished." She turned to him. "Help me down?"  
"Gladly," he smiled mock-flirtatiously at her, reaching up to grasp her by the waist. A quick jump, and he lowered her to the floor beside him, where she straightened her suit jacket once again in an almost-desperate attempt to remain professional. Mulder chuckled and reached up to get the chair off the desk. Scully went to the light switch behind him.  
"Let there be...light." She flicked it on, and they both blinked at the sudden brightness. Mulder let the chair fall the last few inches to the floor. They each looked around the office, and their eyes finally fell on each other.  
"Wow."  
"Yeah. Well," she clapped her hands, then rubbed them together. "Let's get digging." 


	3. Twitch

{Ch-shink}  
The shovel sank into the damp sand, pushed further by a heavy boot. Well-muscled arms levered the tool, and dropped the last load onto the pile. Sweat was wiped off of a dwindled brow, wiped onto jeans, and the man bent to retrieve his prize. A few minutes hauling brought an old, waterlogged trunk to the ground beside its panting rescuer. Hastily, he fumbled with the latches and flipped the top open.  
He grinned greedily, then snatched up the tiny package from within, bringing it to his lips. Standing up, he proceeded to leave the scene, trusting the tide to cover up any evidence of his presence there.  
Fifteen minutes later, he was at the office of Sail Away Industries(TM), pulling his car up in the employee parking lot. Five minutes after that, another man had been shot by the first, who left only a dead man and a small amount of sand and moisture behind to show that he had ever been there.  
  
***  
  
Scully popped the last bite of her cookie into her mouth and licked a finger. "I swear, Mulder," she said, leaning over the desk to grab a file from the other side, "you have got to stop bringing these sweets in. I'm going to gain about a hundred pounds." She leaned back into her chair, opening the folder.  
Deft fingers flipped through the files still in the cabinet. "C'mon, Scully, you got nothin' to worry about. All those diet foods you've been eating–you must weigh, what, a hundred and ten?"  
She burst out laughing, and in a desperate attempt not to spray cookie crumbs all over the documents in front of her, she covered her mouth. Mulder smiled behind her, and selected a file at random from the hundreds in front of him. He positioned himself in his chair, opposite Scully's, and watched her let out her amusement.  
When she finally settled down, with a few odd chuckles slipping out, he glanced down at the folder in her hand, then back at her. "Find anything interesting in there?"  
"No." She looked down as well. "And I'm about to give up. Almost all of these cases are dead ends; I don't think there's anything here worth pursuing."  
"And unless we want to look at..." he paused, looking down at his gamble. "Unless we want to look into the sighting of a floating dog in Red Banks, New Jersey..." His eyes met hers again.  
"...we're out of luck," she finished for him, sighing. "I never thought I'd say this, Mulder, but...the X-Files have gotten boring."  
"*Boring?* Scully, you wound me with your claims of 'boring.'"  
"If saying 'boring' can wound you, I wonder what would happen if I said your," she caught sight of something behind him, "your 'I want to believe poster' is unseemly."  
Mulder tipped back in his chair dramatically, clutching his chest. "A jab that goes straight to my heart!" They were both laughing lightly now, under their breath, but just then, the phone rang. "Mulder," he picked up the phone, straightening his posture, instantly solemn. That glance he shot toward her, however, reassured Scully that he was still amused.  
"Am I speaking to..." a man on the other end started, before continuing as if he was reading with some difficulty. "'Special Agent Fox Mulder' with the FBI?"  
"Yes, this is he."  
"Really?"  
Mulder shot a slight smile at Scully before answering, "Yes, really."  
"Wow, I thought the guys were joking when they told me about you."  
"I'm sorry–who is this?" Reaching for a pad of paper, Mulder looked frantically for his pen before realizing that Scully was holding it out for him. With a look of gratitude, he scribbled down the man's reply.   
"Arnold Jenkins, New Orleans Police Department."  
"New Orleans *Louisiana*?" Scully raised her eyebrows at him across the desk.  
"Yeah. We have a case here...it's a bit out of the ordinary. Well, quite frankly, it's weird."  
Pen poised, "Can you describe it to me?"  
"Well, it's a murder case, but we can't figure out a point of entry, or find a weapon. Or even a suspect. Frankly, we're stumped. Nothing's been stolen, nothing's been moved, even."  
"Ah–thank you. Thank you, Mr...Jenkins, was it? We'll probably be along to assist in a day or so. Thanks again."  
"No, thank *you.*"  
"Goodbye."  
"'Bye, then." The phone hit the cradle with a resounding click.  
"Well?" Scully prompted.  
"Well...we're going to Louisiana."  
"And...?"  
"And it's too bright in here." Scully rolled her eyes. "Do you want to tell Skinner we're going, or shall I?"  
"You do it. I'll book the tickets. How long are we staying?"  
"Few days. No more than a week." Mulder was at the door, now, walking out.  
"At least we can see our hands in front of our faces!" A call followed him into the hallway. He chuckled, and headed towards the elevator.  
  
***  
  
The pillows were nearly nonexistent, the leg space was minimal, and that cloth belt *grated.* Scully never thought she'd even think this, but she was sick of riding in planes. Mulder saw her shifting. "Uncomfortable?"  
"I'll admit that extraterrestrials exist, just to give them credit for designing these *seats.*" She leaned forward, cracking her neck and shoulders, then looked over at Mulder. If there wasn't enough leg space for *her,* well, let's just say the person with the window seat was feeling a little crowded.   
"Peanuts, hon?" a passing flight attendant offered. Scully glared the woman into moving on, then crossed her legs, then uncrossed them again. She looked back to Mulder, who was still looking at her.  
"What?" she asked irritably.  
"Nothing. Just wanted to point out how beautiful you are when you're angry." She elbowed him in the ribs. "Ow! Geez. Try to pay a lady a compliment."  
Watching him nurse his wounded side, Scully cracked a tiny smile.   
"What's the matter, here, Scully? I thought you loved flying."  
"Loved. Past tense." Her response was less terse than before.   
"Why the change of heart?"  
"Look around, Mulder." He did so, then shrugged at her. "A woman can only enjoy flying coach class in the middle of the night so many times before she cracks."  
"Well, maybe you should try getting some sleep. It is–" he checked his watch "-eleven thirty-eight. A good time to be catching some shut-eye, I'm told."  
She looked at him. "I can't get comfortable to stay awake, let alone sleep."  
"Want my pillow?"  
With her eyes, she searched for a pillow on or nearby Mulder's body. Seeing her quest, Mulder bent awkwardly, reached between his back and the seat, and pulled forth something approximately the size of a bean bag, only flatter. He held it in front of her with a hopeful expression, and she had to smile. "Thanks, Mulder, but I don't think that's going to cut it." She took it anyway, enjoying the warmth across her chilled hands.   
"There comes a time in a man's life," he faked a noble look, staring mock-proudly somewhere past the 'No smoking' sign, "when he has nothing else to offer but himself. Now is that time." Dropping these mannerisms, and turning back to her, he saw the look in her eyes and stretched his arm behind her head, pulling her towards his chest. "Come on, Scully. All work and no rest makes for a dull FBI agent." He was rewarded when she settled against him, an armrest making an ungainly impediment between them. Pressing the button, she popped it back and settled against him as best she could manage.  
It was these moments when Mulder was most gratified to work with her. Not those times when she was being strong–although that was certainly something to appreciate, Mulder was certain of that–but these moments when she relinquished all that control she forced on herself for just a tiny bit of self-abandonment. That was what made Mulder happy.   
_You're too hard on yourself,_ he wanted to tell her sometimes. _Why not indulge for a while._ Along with his own pursual of the truth, and his desire to make it known, there was something else gracing the top of his list of priorities: get Scully out of her shell for awhile. Hell, he was happy if he could manage it once a month, but he'd managed to make it happen twice today: once when she was laughing, and now twice.   
Shifting to get more comfortable on the narrow seats, Mulder was inclined to agree with her, that the seating had indeed been designed by beings fourteen inches tall and half as wide. Scully's face was pressed against his still-tender side (that jab had really hurt), and Mulder rubbed his hand lightly across the smooth fabric covering her back.   
  
God, was he warm. It was like hugging a portable heater. Scully let him massage her chills out, wondering if she should wrap her arms around his abdomen to make their positions less harsh. It was moments like these that made Scully realize why she stuck by him through the hard times. Not those times when he stood up for the both of them, and for what he believed in–that was all well and good–but times when he was calm and attentive. Passion for his certainties could go hang–this was what made it worthwhile.   
At first Scully had thought that he cared for nothing, for no one, besides himself and his work. Then she saw his empathy. And he had let her in...there he was, all locked up by himself in the basement, isolated from everyday life. And there she was, sent down to make sure he didn't dig up any secrets all alone down there...and she had realized that he really didn't mind people in general; it was the laughter that drove him downstairs.  
She leaned against Mulder and let her weighted eyelids drop.  
And didn't wake up until the deboarding signal went off.  
  
***  
Scully pondered the previous night on the plane as she pretended to look intently at the crime scene at Sail Away Industries(TM). As the two agents had left the aircraft, the flight attendant who had been serving peanuts had bid them 'Have fun partying, you two,' causing a simultaneous puzzled look to be passed between the two travelers before they filed out the door. Of course, they had experienced this kind of misunderstanding before, with people suggesting that they were married, even, but every time it happened it led Scully to thinking. Were their actions not merely friendly? Had they crossed the line?  
"What do you think, Scully?" Mulder's voice jogged her from her thoughts. He had been surveying the scene with hands on hips, examining the residue left under the door closely. All the windows and doors had been locked, the police report read, and there was no modern ventilation system in the building.  
"I don't know what to think, Mulder. Maybe the victim was working a late night in his office and left the window open for some fresh air." This sent her partner to the window to jimmy the handle.  
Maybe their friendly connection was just a little stronger than some shared by other people, and that set people off track. Maybe–  
"Nope, I don't think that would've worked, Scully. This window can only be locked from the inside."  
Her brow creased, and she fought the urge to yell, _I'm busy thinking about you, so would you please shut up?_ but there was really no cause for that, so she just sighed. Meanwhile, Mulder was crossing the room to inquire about the analysis of the sand under the door.   
Maybe she was just fooling herself. There was one thing she knew for sure: their interests in each other were purely platonic. Weren't they? Just because they had few other friends, and spent most of their time with each other, they–  
"You can do the autopsy, right?" Mulder stopped in front of Scully, and she looked up from the floor.  
"Right. No problem, Mulder. Where will you be?"  
"Interrogating witnesses." He waggled his eyebrows. "Fun."  
"I'll meet you later, then."  
"Yeah," he said, already distracted, laying an unreflective hand on her shoulder. His hand felt heavy through her shoulder pad, and she unintentionally directed all of her attention to it. It was bigger than her shoulder, warm, dull. Before she could assess the appendage further, however, Mulder turned and walked out the door. Sighing, she headed towards her rental car.  
Maybe... 


	4. Squint

Mulder squatted beside the dark patch of carpet, pretending to study it intensely. Blue patch, gray patch...had Mulder been thinking about the discoloration of the floor-covering outside the crime scene's office door, he would have cursed his impaired vision--no telling if that gray patch was actually red, or something else besides. But Mulder's mind was occupied elsewhere.  
That look she'd given him just before she fell asleep last night. That sleepy, satisfied smile weighed heavily on Mulder's mind. It wasn't exactly an expression he saw every day. In fact, he couldn't remember ever having seen it before. And as she'd dozed off, nestled against him, a sweeping feeling of serenity had crept into him before he'd realized it.  
Maybe she'd grown used to him. No, scratch that. She'd grown used to him long ago, eccentricities and all. By the end of their first few months as partners she'd already known him better than a fish knew water was wet. And now she had...what? What had changed? Cold, impersonal, clinical Scully hadn't left. That aspect of her personality was still there when it needed to be. But now, it seemed, *only* when it needed to be.   
She'd accepted him. The thought came to Mulder in a rush, and he straightened suddenly, standing and turning to speak to a detective. "Could you get a sample of this material, tell me what it is, maybe?" He heard himself speaking to the man, and, now that he was getting a response, reminded himself vaguely to listen to what he had to say.  
"This stuff?" That same doubt Mulder had heard in a thousand police officers' voices made a reappearance. "Sure, okay, but I doubt it'll be more than ink or something." The officer turned to an associate and started speaking to him.  
Accepted him. Had she moved on to better things? _God, I hope not,_ Mulder thought to himself, stepping carefully over the darker patch of carpet back into the corner office that was the crime scene. He took in his surroundings once again.  
Sighing regretfully, he promised himself that he could think more about Scully later, and allowed himself to sink into the case.  
_Okay. Gunshot wound to the head, shot executioner style,_ Mulder started going through the mental checklist. Body had already been removed, leaving the spattering of blood across the desk prominent in the room. Bright red droplets stood out boldly against the white of the paperwork that was scattered over the desktop.  
Panorama windows, looking out over..._Well, not much of a view, really, but it's the fact that he *had* a view that counted._ Framed awards adorned the wall, along with a picture of the recently deceased. _So he was full of himself. Not a surprise, with his rank in the company._  
The victim had been an almost-executive in Sail Away Industries(TM), probably drawing a paycheck with considerably higher digits than those that appeared on Mulder's. Crossing the small room, Mulder peered behind the desk at the dead man's chair, noting that it looked exceedingly comfortable. _Especially after six hours on that plane. Yowch._   
_All right, then, possible motive: envy. So maybe one of his employees did it._ Mulder rolled his eyes at the lack of view as he crossed the room again, this time to the windows. _And the guy was in charge of about half the company. I'll be interrogating for *hours,*_ he moaned inwardly.  
_Wonder what Scully's doing right now...no! Stop that! Mind on case!_   
"Agent Mulder?" A voice queried from the doorway. He spun, spied a man in a blue uniform. "Ah, you wanted to interview prime witnesses?" The guy looked nervous, and young. Probably his first time encountering a federal officer on the job.   
"Oh boy," Mulder cracked, trying to quell the younger man's fears. He didn't look particularly assuaged by this. A wry smile crossed Mulder's lips. "Lead me to 'em."  
  
***  
  
This was the most unusual autopsy that Scully had ever performed, and that was saying something. She had dissected the bodies of mutants, worked meticulously through procedures to determine a cause of death when it turned out that there was none that could be determined, had even searched for clues for a case in the body of a supposed 'alien,' but this--this took the cake.  
Nothing else was out of place, tox screen came back negative, no injuries beforehand, even. Just a gunshot wound to the head, and this man's life had ended a few short milliseconds later.  
_So this is what normal pathologists encounter every day,_ Scully thought ruefully, stitching the Y-incision carefully, pulling the thread into a clean knot before removing her gloves and tossing them in the wastebin. _No eyes moving after the person has died._ She glanced back at the body, and corrected herself, _No eyes, *period.*_ It had been an extremely close shot. Wheeling the corpse back for an assistant to take care of, Scully searched her memory for any other cases she had encountered quite like this one.  
No obvious clues as to the killer, no little mementos stolen. Not even a weapon found, or any trace evidence--merely a dead man, some sand under the door (which could have been there anyway, really), and an iffy dark patch outside the office, which she knew that Mulder would investigate on a hunch. Scully turned off the light in the lab on her way out and made her way out of the building. The sunlight nearly blinded her as she stepped into the parking lot. Shielding her eyes, she made her way to her car, but as soon as she sat down and closed the door, she realized. _I've got nowhere to go._  
Mulder would probably still be at the crime scene, or maybe at the local police station, tracking down leads. _I'm not going to call him._ Her cell phone smiled at her dubiously from the adjacent car seat. _I *could* call him,_ she reasoned with herself, _or I could just *find* him._ Making her decision, she shifted the rental car into the appropriate gear and pulled out of the lot, ready to go find her partner.  
  
***  
  
_Just one more after this, just one more after this, just one more after this,_ Mulder chanted to himself silently, loosening his tie and running a hand through his hair. God, did he hate these things. _Forget anything I ever said about cases being hard. *This* is hard. Well, not hard. Boring._   
A woman dressed provactively in a fitted suit that had obviously been taken down a few sizes crossed her legs and stared at him openly from a cubicle chair. "Miss..." he looked down at the clipboard provided by the police department. "Grating."  
"Gratling," she stretched, thrusting her breasts forward towards Mulder. He raised an eyebrow at her. She didn't seem to notice.  
"You're a secretary here?"  
"Yes, here at Sail Away Industries(TM), where we work hard for your pleasure," she said, instantly Saleslady. But then her voice changed to a huskier tone as she leaned toward him, "We work *very* hard."  
Mulder resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the woman. "So, Miss Gratling, where were you last night at 6:37?"  
She pouted a little at his impersonal tone, and backed down. "I was working late, going through some paperwork. You'll never get ahead in this company if you don't work extra. Anyway, I was at this desk," here she pointed at her ground, long red fingernail very visible from the way she arched her hand, "writing up some couple from Milwaukee or some such place, when I heard this shot. Then about six people ran over there," she pointed to the corner office this time, "screaming, so I stayed put."  
"Thanks, Miss Grating-"  
"Gratling."  
"Right. Thank you, Miss Gratling, you've been very helpful," he said, marking her down as 'useless.' "Is there any other information you can offer me?"  
"Umm..."  
"For instance, who has moved up the ranks as a result of this homocide?"  
"...what?"  
He sighed heavily. "Who got the promotion?"  
"Oh! Earl Stanson. Little prick," she curled her lips in disgust.   
"Earl Stanson," Mulder checked his list. "Funny, that's who I'm seeing next. Well, Miss Grat...ling, thank you again for your help."  
She smiled and batted her eyes in a way she probably hoped was coquettish. "No problem."  
As soon as Mulder got out of her sight, he let loose the biggest eyeroll he'd had in years. "One left," he said to one of the few officers remaining. "Where's my next lucky contestant? Earl Stanson," he supplied.  
"Through there."  
"Thanks," Mulder stepped into the plush office. There were boxes piled on the desk, and the man he supposed was Stanson was placing his last 'Employee of the Month' award on top of his stapler. "Mr. Stanson?"  
"More questions? I'm getting *really* sick of this," the man remarked snidely. Just for the hell of it, Mulder flashed him his badge.  
"My name's Fox Mulder, I'm with the Federal Bureau of Investigation."  
"Whoop-dee-doo." Now *there* was a reaction Mulder hadn't seen before. "Come on, get on with it, I wanna get home."  
Clearing his throat, Mulder complied. "Were you acquainted with the deceased?"  
"Sure. He was my boss."  
"Did you like him?"  
"Who likes their boss?"  
Mulder blinked. "*I* like *my* boss."  
Stanson rolled his eyes, sitting down behind his soon-to-be-ex desk. "I'm so happy for you."  
_Moving on..._ "Where were you at the time of the murder?"  
"At home. Watchin' tv."  
"Is there anyone who can prove you were home at that time?"  
"Yeah. Six girls and one *sexy* goat." He rolled his eyes again. Mulder felt his mouth twitch.  
"Can you think of anyone who might have a motive for killing Mr. DuPori?"  
"Pfft. Half the people in this building, easy." Stanson leaned back in his seat, and the sun, which hung low in the sky, flashed behind him.  
And then Mulder caught it. An extra sort of glint from the direction of the man's face. "...Do you have a glass eye, Mr. Stanson?"  
This got the guy's attention. "Yeah. Got it a few years ago. Why?"  
"How'd that happen?"  
"Boating accident," he shrugged. "Most people don't notice."  
Leaning a little closer, Mulder inspected Stanson's eyes. They were a vivid, shocking blue, something you don't often see in nature. "Contact?"  
"Yeah. Most people don't notice *that,* either." Mulder leaned even closer. "Are you checkin' me out?"  
"No, just--thank you for your time, Mr. Stanson," he leaned back, disappointed. Nothing really that unusual about a glass eye. It was the jerk behind it that was important in the case. Mulder stood, spouting "I hope you enjoy your new position in the company," as he disappeared through the office door.  
***  
  
She wasn't sure when she had made the decision to turn off the road--it was probably when she had spotted the gorgeous little beach. Or perhaps when she had missed her exit. Either way, when it came right down to it, she'd rather be looking out at the water than looking at case file photos. Her cell phone had rung about half an hour ago, and she'd had to tell Mulder where she was. He hadn't sounded particularly upset about it--maybe he'd had a frustrating day as well. _No, don't think about your day. Think about the river...the ocean._ Now she lost herself in the way the sun glinted off the waves in *just* the right way as to make it the most beautiful view of a large body of water she'd ever seen.  
"Looking for lost treasure?"  
Scully looked up at his silhouette, blinking against his penumbra. "In a way." She shifted on the sun-warmed sand beside him as he sat down. He was looking at her in that questioning way he had, half-joking, half-insanely-curious. Her eyes drifted back out to the ocean. She reveled in the sight. Perhaps it wasn't *the* *most* beautiful view she'd ever seen. She'd never thought the ocean could be more beautiful than when she was a kid. Come to think of it, she really didn't know if this was the ocean or just a river. She just knew that it didn't seem to matter. "Just remembering some stuff from when I was little." Letting herself glance at him, she looked back towards his car. "They let you park here?"  
"Yeah. Why, they didn't let you?"  
"No. Said I had to park at least a few blocks away. They didn't explain why."  
Cracking a smile, Mulder said in the worst possible imitation of a Cajun accent: "Welcome to N'Awlins, where we don't let you park close to the beach."  
Scully smiled, turning back to the water. _We must be facing East. The sun's behind me,_ she thought, then commented aloud, "God, the sky is gorgeous." Mulder remained silent, letting her think.   
She was letting him in, he had decided by now. The startling thing was, no life-changing event had prompted it. In the past, she'd only let him see that she was human (not that he didn't realize that anyway) when something had hurt her spirit, or when she'd had some sort of traumatic experience. And now...now she was doing it of her own accord. No prompting, no silent entreaties from him to let herself go.  
As his eyes flitted over her form, which was transfixed by the waves lapping at the shore, he pondered about how he appeared to her. He knew very well how she appeared to him, as it had been pointed out in the past that he saw people differently than most. Instead of searching for distinguishing features like hair color or a familiar face in a crowd, Mulder's mind recognized people a different way: by their stature, their way of holding themselves. And, as far as he was concerned, no one else he had ever met held themselves like Scully. The way she held herself to her full height at all times, she always looked accurate and alert, ready to use her full power to accomplish anything she set herself to do. Not even physically gigantic men who had seen a tour of duty in the armed services held themselves like that. In Scully's stance, Mulder saw pure determination.  
So now he wondered what she saw in his. He was determined to do things, sure, but he was also afraid of things, too. For instance, he was afraid of this new development in his partner. Now that she was letting him in, would she let danger in as well. Would the way she moved reflect that? Would she suddenly appear more vulnerable? Mulder hoped not. And, furthermore, was his worry affecting the way that *he* moved? Could she see his concern? More questions wanted to push themselves in Mulder's mind, but she began to speak again.  
"My dad would always be out at sea when I was a little girl. And my mother was a full-blown Navy wife, keeping all her problems and worries inside and just taking care of us kids better than three people could. And she says that *I'm* the strong one," a smile crossed Scully's lips. "Every once in awhile, we would get a report that there was some danger to my father's ship. So we'd stay up all night, or we wouldn't go to school, and we'd just stay at home together on the couch, all clustered together as if by sheer willpower we could get dad out of danger.   
"Charlie always fell asleep with his head on somebody's lap, usually mine. Bill would sit at the end of the couch, brooding," she chuckled a bit. "And mom and Mel would just hug each other, each pretending it was for the other's benefit. The longest we ever had to wait to find out was eight hours. About four hours in, we started joking about what we would do to Ahab when he got back. Mom always said she would hug him 'till all his bones broke and he wouldn't be able to go back out to sea." She turned to him, and he smiled at her. "So, anything on the case?" she asked, as if nothing was out of place.  
Mulder shook his head a little bit to clear it, surprised at her quick change of tone, then shook his head more fully. "Nothing. No good leads, no real suspects...well, at this point, I guess everyone's a suspect." He leaned in closer, asked her deadpan, "Did you shoot Frank DuPori, Scully?"  
She rolled her eyes, "No, I didn't. But I can tell you how he was shot. Point-blank to the head, with a 9mm. But other than that, I can't give you any more information."  
Mulder sighed. "I was really hoping this wasn't going to be a dead end. I don't want to have heard over fifteen earnest appraisals of Sail Away Cruiselines' services for nothing. Oh, excuse me, Sail Away Industries(TM)."  
"Did they find any fingerprints?"  
He shook his head again. "None. There was nothing to implicate anyone."  
"And he didn't shoot *himself*..." She sighed now, too. "Well, we came out here for nothing. But on the bright side, we did get to see this magnificent view...oh, no." Looking back at the water now, she saw that the sun had moved further down on its path. The waves were no longer crested by the glow of late-afternoon sunlight.  
"Hey, nothing lasts forever," Mulder reassured her. "But, look, we can come back here tomorrow, same time, and I bet if you're with me they'll even let you park within a block of the beach."  
***  
  
Author's Note: About the height thing. Yeah. Scully's short. That's not why she holds herself to her full height all the time, I don't think. Personally, as an extremely short person (same height as Scully, in fact), I have found that once you reach a certain age, standing up straight is no longer about an inferiority complex, but about wanting to look people in the eye. If I can get over the inferiority thing by sixteen, I'm sure Scully could manage by her mid-thirties. Thank you. Read on! :D 


	5. Tune In

_Lyin' in my bed I hear the clo-ock tick and I think of you,_ Mulder heard his own voice singing flatly inside his head. _Well, that much is true._ He was sprawled on his motel bed, having just heard his digital alarm click make a tiny 'click' to the next minute, and he *was* thinking of Scully. Specifically, he was thinking about how glad he was that the walls in this particular motel were paper-thin and how good it was to be able to hear every single movement that Scully was making in her adjoining room.   
Well, good for part of him. Another part, the professional part of Mulder's mind, was screaming that he shouldn't be happy at all, because how was he going to resist the temptation to strip naked and have Scully find him that way in her bed if he didn't stop listening to her take a shower? Okay, so he wasn't *quite* prepared to do that, but all the same, he wanted to go--do *something* with Scully, he didn't know what.   
Stilling all motion, he focused every filament of his being on the sounds from the other room. Every droplet not hitting the porcelain, he knew, was a droplet hitting Scully's--No! Don't think about which part of her body it was hitting...which part of her wet, naked...oh, damn.  
Just as Mulder had begun to let these thoughts drift through his mind, a sharp cry cut over the sound of the shower. It wasn't a cry of pain, he knew, or he would have been by her side in an instant, acting awkward and concerned at the same time. No, this was a cry of...the shower turned off, and before the last drop had plinked onto the bathmat, Mulder was on his feet, heading for his own bathroom. That hadn't been a cry of...what he thought it might have been a cry of. He was so determined of this that he was going to prove it to himself by splashing cold water on his face.  
  
***  
  
A sharp cry escaped Scully's lips as the soap slipped between her fingers and hit the shower floor. Bending over, she picked it up again, placing it in the soapdish. As she rinsed off, she thought about what, exactly, had been going through her head when she made her little 'confession' to Mulder that afternoon on the beach.  
It was the least calculated move she had ever made since starting with the FBI. She hadn't planned it out, figured out the right time to say it, as she normally would have done with a co-worker, and what was Mulder but a co-worker? There hadn't even been a *reason* behind it. She'd just been so entranced by the view, and then Mulder had been there, and she hadn't even hesitated. Just--told him. Nothing to it.  
The new silence rang in the tiny room after Scully turned off the faucet and the last drop of water hit the bathtub. Scully stepped out onto the bath mat, wrapping the not-quite-white towel around herself as she went. She heard the sound of water splashing from the next room, and wondered why they always stayed in these cruddy little motels. _They're cheap,_ she answered herself. _Standard FBI procedure: save the country's money when it comes to comfort--but when it comes to blowing things up, well, that's another story._  
A crazy thought ran through Scully's head: that of pressing her ear up to the wall between her room and Mulder's. She'd be able to hear every little move he made, be able to hear his stockinged feet on the disgusting shag carpeting. _The walls have ears,_ she thought smiling, and instead crossed to her overnight bag, dragging out her wrinkled silk pajamas.  
  
***  
  
There was rustling in the next room now, and despite the freezing water that seemed to be all that the tap could provide, Mulder found himself thinking of the now-dressing Scully.  
Fip!  
Now she'd closed the overnight duffel.  
Whoomph!  
Now she'd dropped the...the...towel...  
Mulder needed to sit down.  
Sinking down onto the bed once again, Mulder knew that he'd be unable to get his mind completely off Scully, but at least he could think of something *else* about her, something not quite so...overtly...  
_Whatever,_ Mulder thought, _let's just get off the subject._ He needed something distracting, something that wouldn't make him so jumpy.  
How about the tone of voice she used when he'd just told her a new theory that was, besides being 'ridiculous' also 'completely unsubstantiated'? Perfect. That oughta distract him from the rustling of bedclothes coming from next door, and the soft little satisfied sigh that could just be heard above the drip from his bathroom faucet. Absolutely. He was completely distracted from that, now. Completely.  
Could he actually hear her *breathing*?  
Oh, crap...  
This was going to be a long night.  
  
***  
  
"This is going to be a looooooooooong night," Percy, Laura Gratling's favorite character on her favorite soap opera, 'Hours of our Time,' asserted.  
Laura laughed, looking up from buffing her nails briefly. 'Hours of our Time' was such a complex show, she was thinking, that it really took you *years* to fully grasp the characters, not *hours.* The show's credits were now beginning to run, along with the badly-recorded theme music, so Laura picked up the remote and pressed the 'power' button daintily. She returned to buffing her nails, and began, like most humans tend to do after work, to dissect her day.  
Well, she hadn't had much sleep when she went to work that morning, considering what had happened the night before. She'd been so afraid that some man would show up at her door with a gun that she'd turned all the lights on in her house, only to have her neighbors show up and complain about it. But when she'd arrived at work, it had been business as usual, reassuring--coffee for Miss Perkins, sexual favor for Mr. Luke, coffee and a little peck on the cheek for Mr. Dimmesdale--until the police had shown up again.  
  
There was a whole big setup around the boss's office, and Laura leaned around the corner to see it all. Two official-looking people had shown up to look the thing over: a tall, cute guy (_Have to flirt with him later,_ Laura noted to herself), and a short redhead who looked kind of pissed off at the cute guy. _Wonder if I should go red,_ Laura thought, touching her hair, then she felt a hand on her shoulder.  
"Hey, Laura. New assignments have come in," Earl smiled at her smugly, holding out the papers. She took them, squinting at the tiny type, then looked back up at him. "You're my new secretary." His grin expanded. "Guess that means we'll have to do what all bosses and secretaries do."  
Considering her options carefully, Laura looked him up and down. He was a slimeball if she'd ever seen one (and she had, oh, trust her, she had). Pus on his face and a sadistic gleam in his eye, Earl Stanson was a jerk, through and through. Famous for being nasty, it was a common water-cooler topic around Sail Away Industries(TM) to how he had gotten so far in the company. *Who,* in their right minds, would give *this* man a promotion? And now he had *another* one--with a corner office, no less. Laura supposed she would have to play dumb (something else she was acquainted with): "Gosh, Mr. Stanson. What *is* it that bosses and secretaries do?"  
"Come to my old office and I'll show ya. I was just packing up, so there's plenty of room on the desk, if you know what I mean."  
"Sorry, Mr. Stanson, I've gotta pack up *my* stuff, too. And besides," Laura thought quickly, for Laura, "those people over there," she pointed, "will probably wanting to talk to me, since I was here last night, working late. That's funny," she put a long, red fingernail to her lips, looking confused, "I didn't see you here last night, Mr. Stanson."  
Grunting angrily, Stanson turned and headed towards his office as quickly as he could. That was the last time Laura saw him at work that day.  
  
_Yup, total scumbag,_ Laura thought, setting a complex nail-buffing instrument down on her coffee table. _I wonder if I could be somebody else's secretary. I'd rather be *anyone's* secretary than his. Maybe Mr. Luke...Hell, even Mr. Dimmesdale would be better, and he's a *real* weird one..._  
So wrapped up was Laura Gratling in her inner monologue that she didn't hear the soft footsteps steadily approaching the couch. And by the time the loud gunshot had resounded through her living room and out into the street, it was too late for Laura Gratling to be noticing anything at all.  
  
***  
  
"Neighbors heard the gunshot and called the police--to complain, apparently," the smile crept into his voice. "They showed up, found the body, made the connection, and called us."  
"What's the connection?" Scully struggled to make herself heard over the driving rain hitting their umbrellas.  
"No sign of a break-in, single gunshot wound to the head, close range. They think it's a 9mm in this case, too."  
"Not much of a connection," she grumbled. "I'm guessing that I have to do another autopsy today?"  
For the first time that morning, Mulder looked down at her. "You had breakfast yet?"  
"Yes."  
"Oh."  
She glared at him, and said accusingly, "You don't look like someone who slept through the night."  
"Do I ever sleep through the night?" A siren had been approaching from behind them, and now it cut off with a 'bwip.' Detective Jenkins, to whom they had introduced themselves the previous day, came bounding toward them, holding a newspaper over his head to hold off the rain. He stopped a few feet away and stuck out a large, manila envelope.  
"Here are those tests you wanted on the substance outside the boss's door. You care to explain that to me, Agent Mulder?"  
"I will after I've looked at the results," he remarked, taking the folder and opening it quickly. He scanned the pages within. "Cotton, polyester..."  
"This could just be the carpet, Mulder," Scully pointed out.  
"No...no, *this* is the carper." Flipping the page, he gestured. "This is...something else..." They both peered at the results for a moment, oblivious to their surroundings until Jenkins coughed lightly, shifting his stance and the newspaper above his head, which was gradually growing more and more sodden.  
"Any ideas about suspects yet?"  
Mulder looked up, as if he were just remembering the detective was there. "Yeah. Earl Stanson."  
Instantly annoyed, Scully turned on him. "Who?" _You didn't tell me about this. Here I was, thinking about you, and you're busy--_  
"I interviewed him yesterday. He got a promotion by way of the first murder."  
"Well, what's the connection with this one?"  
"They did *work* together." _Oops, didn't mean for it to come out *quite* that way..._  
"Excuse me," Jenkins broke in, just as his newspaper collapsed, dumping rainwater all over his head with a dull-sounding splash. "Perhaps you'd like to continue this conversation at the statioin. We have records on all the employees at Sail Away Industries, not to mention coffee and a roof to keep the rain out."  
Mulder shook his head, trying to shake the sound of the rain out of his ears. "All right. We'll follow you there."  
"After we see the crime scene," Scully added, hoping to figure something out about a suspect herself.  
"Yeah."  
A close inspection of the aforementioned crime scene revealed no new information, however, so Scully sought it elsewhere. "Enlighten me, Mulder," she said, pulling open the passenger door of Mulder's rental car. "Who is this Earl Stanson?"  
"A world-class asshole," he flomped into his seat, waited the half-a-second for Scully to settle into hers, and started the car. "Now Co-Executive Director at Sail away Industries." Mulder rubbed his forehead, pulling the car out into the wet street. Tired, tired, tired.  
"And what makes him a suspect?"  
"I dunno."  
"You don't know?"  
"I don't know. Something weird about him."  
"'Something weird about him,'" she quoted, quirking an eyebrow. "Mulder, you know that *I* trust your hunches, but somehow I don't think that's going to hold up in court."  
"You trust my hunches?" A slight smile worked its way onto Mulder's face, and he turned briefly to take a look at Scully in the passenger's seat. Amusement was his tone of choice. "Scully, I'm flattered."  
Fighting the urge to smile, she said, "You gonna tell me, or what?"  
"I dunno, something about him just--hit me." Scully made a slight noise of disapproval. "Plus, you know, he has the motive. And no alibi."  
"He wasn't at the office at the time of the murder?"  
"No, and I'm betting he wasn't working late last night, either."  
"Well, I'm sure there are *other*--"  
"I know."  
"Then why this one?"  
Mulder pulled the car into the police station parking lot and cut the engine. Jenkins had already ducked into a side entrance, it seemed, and was nowhere to be seen. The clunking of car doors closing was muffled by the rain, as well as the double 'foomp's of umbrellas opening. _If I tell her it's a gut feeling, she'll scoff. Not that I *mind* hearing her scoff...kinda nice, really, but I don't like hearing her unhappy...aw, hell. I'll just tell her._ "He had a glass eye."  
"So?" she asked pointedly.   
_Well, that didn't make her mad at all,_ Mulder thought sarcastically. They passed under the overhang of the building, where the water smacking onto the ground outside rang hollowly, and headed toward the glass door labled 'New Orleans PD.' A saturated figure was shivering in a small outcove, and as they approached, it startled and launched itself toward them.  
"You the FBI agents?" asked the diminished man. Mulder's hand automatically started heading towards his gun, but Scully looked up at him and hummed a warning. He dropped his hand.  
"Yes, that's us," Scully answered. "Can we help you, sir?"  
A crash of thunder drowned out the man's answer, tailing a flash of lightning closely.  
"What was that? I didn't catch it." Unbidden, Mulder's hand started towards his gun again.  
"I said, I--I know who the murderer is."  
  
***  
  
Author's Note: Fear not, for the next chapter shall be up ASAP. Just been *extremely* busy, doing all sorts of crap that I know you don't want to hear about. Anywho, I'm halfway through the next chapter, but just to torture you until I put it up, here's a little teaser (::evil laughter::):  
  
Scully peered disdainfully at his plate, remarking, "Mulder, if you die of food poisoning, I am going to dance on your grave."  
"If you do, will you promise to imitate the Mardi Gras dancers and take off your shirt?" A hopeful smile flew across the table, along with the tantalizing odor of gumbo.  
She gave him a look. "How are you going to be able to appreciate it? You'll be *dead.*"  
"Scully, you without a shirt would be enough to wake any man from the dead." Winking at her, he took a bite of his dish.  
  
Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha... 


	6. Un reniflement

Scully took a long, deep breath of the steam rising off her coffee, and prayed for deliverance from these crazy people.   
  
"Tell me again," Mulder demanded of their witness, sounding both fiercely interested and weary at the same time. "From the beginning."  
  
"Well..." Arthur Pinkle took a deep, shuddering breath. It was quite obvious that he wasn't enjoying this reminiscing. "I was bringing a message to Mr. Dimmesdale, whose office is down the hall from Mr. DuPori's--may he rest in peace. Anyway, I noticed Mr. Stanson outside of Mr. DuPori's office, in casual clothing, which is odd, 'cause Mr. Stanson usually wears office-wear--neatly pressed, and all." Pinkle paused, staring reflectively at the floor.  
  
"Go on," Mulder prompted. Pinkle jumped at his voice, almost spilling his coffee, which was long cold by now. "What happened then?"  
  
"Mulder," Scully started exasperatedly, "we must have been over this--"  
  
"Shh-shh-shh. Once more for the record. Okay?"  
  
"Fine," she relented, settling back into a leaning position against the desk, and sniffing at her coffee again. Detective Jenkins cleared his throat behind her, and she glanced back to see he had gone for more coffee. Mulder, meanwhile, was intent on the witness.  
  
"I-I-I heard Mr. Stanson muttering to himself, but I-I couldn't really hear it: too quiet. So, anyway, that was when th-the really *weird* thing happened." Again Pinkle stopped, this time too flustered to go on. "Do I have to say it again?"  
  
"Just once more, Mr. Pinkle."  
  
"All right, but I'm tellin' ya, just 'cause I saw it doesn't mean I believe it."  
  
_A man after my own heart,_ Scully thought halfway across the cubicle.  
  
"So, then Mr. Stanson...Mr. Stanson..." Mulder looked like he was about to interrupt the man. "Mr. Stanson transformed into a cloud of smoke."  
  
"What kind of smoke?"  
  
"R-red. Why? What does that have to do with anything?"  
  
"Nothing, nothing. Go on."  
  
"Anyway, the...cloud of red smoke went underneath the door to the office, and--a few seconds later there was a gunshot and everybody came running." Scully took a sip of her coffee.  
  
"All right, Mr. Pinkle. Thank you for volunteering this information," Mulder stood, looking back at Scully with a ridiculous amount of hope in his eyes. "You just have to sign a couple of forms and you can go. Detective Jenkins--" Detective Jenkins, who had just entered the cubicle with a fresh cup of coffee, froze like a deer in the headlights. "--will find someone who'll show you what to do."  
  
Jenkins unfroze. "Down the hall and to the left, Mr. Pinkle," he chucked a thumb in the right direction, and as the jumpy man left, took a sip of from his mug. "So what do you think of this crackpot?"  
  
"I think he saw something," Mulder jumped in before Scully could voice her doubts in Mr. Pinkle's sanity. "Something that defies explanation at the moment." Slapping his knees, he stood up. "Detective Jenkins, do you know of any good restaurants around here? I'm dying for some lunch. Huh, Scully?" Startled, Scully looked up from her coffee and nodded her agreement.  
  
"Well, there are a couple of Denny's hangin' around, but if you want my *expert* opinion," here he winked, "you'll head down to the Cajun quarter. You probably saw it on your way into town. There's some great food to be had there, if you're willing to try somethin' new."  
  
*********  
  
The scents of wet pavement and local spices hung in the air as two trenchcoat-clad people made their way into a busy restaurant, folding their umbrellas. The rain had slowed to a slight drizzle outside, no longer a full-fledged distraction as it had been before, and Scully found herself drawn to the bright colors and enticing aromas of those market stalls that remained in the streets.   
  
"Table for two," Mulder held up two fingers. The woman nodded and led them to their seats, where they were greeted almost instantly by their server.  
  
"'Ello, I am Remy LeChien, I'll be your waiter today," the squat, smiling man said in a genuine Cajun accent as he handed them each a menu. His aura of friendliness was contagious, and both Mulder and Scully found themselves smiling at him. "Today's specials are on the board behind you," he pointed. "I'll be back in a few minutes to take your order. Oh, and mademoiselle," he leaned in a bit closer to Scully, "may I recommend anything with our house sauce, huh?" The waiter waggled his eyebrows. "It's delicious."  
  
"Looks like you made yourself a new friend, Scully," said Mulder jokingly as LeChien wound his way through the restaurant. She quirked an eyebrow at him and opened her menu.  
  
After a pause, she said, "So, Mulder--" at the same time he said, "So, Scully--"  
  
He cleared his throat, embarrassed. "You go first."  
  
"I was just wondering what your theory was on this case," she said, just as embarrassed as he was--on the inside, anyway.  
  
"Well, isn't it obvious?" Scully didn't even have to roll her eyes. "Uh, well, the 'red mist' that Pinkle described reminds me of an old legend of a--um," he quailed a bit under her unwavering gaze, "a pirate who buried the treasure that was supposedly the rarest and most valuable of all: the kind that helped you find more treasure. According to the story, it can get you through any door in the world without needing a key."  
  
"Do I have to bother telling you how ridiculous that sounds?"  
  
"No, I figured that out on my own, thank you."  
  
"So what were you going to say before?"  
  
"Uh," he coughed, _Why've you been so nice lately?_ "just, um, what are you going to order?"  
  
What was the deal with Mulder? He was acting like they had never spoken before. _Like we're on a blind date or something. Which is utterly ridiculous,_ she reassured herself, regretting even thinking such a thing. But what had happened to their witty discourse? "A salad."  
  
"What?! A salad, Scully? Here we are, in a genuine Cajun restaurant, about to use our government's money to pay for what *could* be a very expensive lunch...and you're ordering a salad?" he asked incredulously.  
  
_*There's* the witty discourse._ "I'm on a diet," she told him demurely. "Besides, most of what they serve here is loaded with grease, not to mention the risk of food poisoning from all this seafood." She paused. "Why, what are you getting?"  
  
LeChien took that moment to make his reappearance. "Are we ready to order? Yes? Good." He turned to Scully first, with what he probably hoped was a winning smile on his face. "Mademoiselle? What will you be having today?"  
  
She glared at Mulder as she ordered, a hint of humor in her eyes. "A salad."  
  
"With--ahem--" the waiter tried to catch her attention, and got it after a few seconds of waiting. "--our house sauce, mademoiselle?"  
  
With what was certainly a winning smile up at the server, she said, "Of course." Then she turned to Mulder with a half-smile, as if to challenge him: 'Your turn.'  
  
"I'll have the seafood gumbo," he stated, a slight smile creeping onto his face. 'Challenge taken, and matched. Your move. If you dare.'  
  
"Oh, and waiter!" Scully called after him, tearing her eyes away from Mulder's. LeChien turned. "Make that *extra* house sauce, all right?" She smiled sweetly at him, but when she turned back to her partner, her smile turned smug. 'Checkmate. Maybe next time, loser.'  
  
Mulder was hardly disappointed by his loss. _When has Scully *ever* played something like that with me? Oh, let's see...*never.*_ Without his even requesting it to, his mouth spoke for him. "Scully..." he started, his tone serious. She sobered almost instantly, and some part of him mourned the loss of her smile. For once in his life, he got right to the point. "You've been different, lately."  
  
"What do you mean?" she asked, slightly defensive and puzzled.  
  
"That," Mulder jerked his head toward the direction in which the waiter had disappeared. "And the beach. You've never...told me anything like that...voluntarily before."  
  
"'Voluntarily'?" she retorted, mildly indignant.  
  
"Maybe 'voluntarily' isn't the right word," he ceded. "What I'm saying is...when have you ever told me a story like that...when we haven't been in dire straits?"  
  
"Well, I--"  
  
"Not that I'm saying it's a bad change," he said, holding his hands up, as if to ward off any protests. "I mean, you've been downright friendly to me--"  
  
"When have I not been friendly to you, Mulder?"  
  
_Want me to list off the times?_ "I'm putting this entirely the wrong way." Putting his forehead in his hand, he slumped over the table, frustrated.  
  
"No, I--I think I get it." Scully's voice was suddenly tender, and Mulder looked up just as she touched his hand with her own.  
  
"GUMBO! for you, sir," said Remy LeChien exuberantly, shoving Mulder out of the way to place down a steaming bowl of the proclaimed meal, "and a salad," he said flirtatiously to Scully, "for the lady." He leaned in a little closer to her, just as she was pulling her hand back into her lap. "With *extra* house dressing."  
  
Mulder and Scully waited until LeChien had disappeared into the kitchen before they laughed.  
  
*********  
  
Earl Stanson shut his suitcase with a slam, and headed to the bathroom for a last-minute check. No, not a check to see if he'd already packed everything he needed; he had to make sure he *looked* good. A quick glance in the mirror, then a splash of water over his face, and then a much *longer* look in the mirror, showed Stanson that he was set to go. With one last brush of his hair, he went back out into his living room to make a phone call.  
  
"Marla? Yeah, it's me. Uh-huh, I'm all packed, did you make the reservations? Good. Used some of that, uh, vast charm of yours, didn't you? What do you mean 'what charm'? Well, I'm just trying to pay you a compliment, I--" A dial tone issued from the phone's earpiece. "Fine, be that way," Earl told it. Picking up his suitcase, he left the phone off the hook and went out the door.   
  
*********  
  
Scully peered disdainfully at his plate, remarking, "Mulder, if you die of food poisoning, I am going to dance on your grave."  
  
"If you do, will you promise to imitate the Mardi Gras dancers and take off your shirt?" A hopeful smile flew across the table, along with the tantalizing odor of gumbo.  
  
She gave him a look. "How are you going to be able to appreciate it? You'll be *dead.*"  
  
"Scully, you without a shirt would be enough to wake any man from the dead." Winking at her, he took a bite of his dish.  
  
Angrily, Scully speared a piece of lettuce with her fork. A minute ago, he had been prepared to confess something *important,* and now look at him: smiling goofily at her, slurping away at his food, which, to make things worse, smelled *really* good. Lifting her fork to block her view of him, she peered at the piece of lettuce. It was dripping with house sauce. She fought the urge to scoff, and slipped the piece of roughage into her mouth. Then she did scoff.  
  
"Something wrong, Scully?"  
  
"Gimme that," she seized his gumbo, bringing the bowl across the table to take a taste.  
  
"What happened to the whole 'it's bad for you' kick?"  
  
"It smelled good," she said testily, after she swallowed. The bowl traveled back across the table.  
  
"Live up to your expectations?"  
  
"So what were you going to say before?" she interjected. Mulder looked taken aback, so she clarified: "What were you saying when Monsieur LeChien," she mocked the name, "decided to interrupt?"  
  
"Oh," Mulder set his spoon down on his plate with a clink. When he didn't say anything, Scully prompted,  
  
"About me...changing?"  
  
"It's a good thing," he said softly after awhile, reaching up to rub his face, but then thinking better of it and running his hand through his hair. "It's like you're...not afraid to just...be yourself around me anymore. Does that make sense?" After a long pause, he looked up from the table and said, just as quietly, "I'm glad of it. You're not afraid to be my friend--as well as my colleague."  
  
Scully's eyes sparked with ire. _Uh-oh,_ thought Mulder. "And I wasn't your friend before? Is that what you're saying?"  
  
"No, I just--*more* so now--"  
  
"I could've requested a transfer a *long* time ago, Mulder, and you know it." Her voice had been rising slightly in volume, but she noticed and lowered it. Mulder resolved that he liked Scully loud and angry a great deal better than he liked Scully soft and angry. "I could have just packed up and left--*especially* after I...disappeared..." She trailed off, staring into her salad. Knowing she should eat, though retaining no appetite, she forced the food down, not looking up from it once, even when Mulder requested the check. Even when the waiter swept the plate away from her place, she fixed her gaze on the table, emotions warring inside of her.   
  
_I should say something, I know it,_ Mulder told himself as he slung on his coat. Scully's eyes remained immovable; she stared straight ahead while they made their way out of the restaurant. _Maybe I shouldn't have told her, after all..._ Just as Scully was unfolding her umbrella to protect against the light drizzle, Mulder's cell phone rang.  
  
"You better get down here, right away," said Detective Jenkins, agitated. "Our suspect's just signed up to take a cruise with the Vice President of his company."  
  
"Right," Mulder said, clicking off the phone. He turned to Scully, duty overriding the need to give her some space. "We have to get on a cruise."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Let's go," Mulder bolted for the car.  
  
***  
  
Ha-HA! A cliffhanger! An emotional one! Yay! Now all that's left is the resolution. Aren't you excited? You don't get a preview this time, though. All I'm giving you is the chapter title: "Savor." If you haven't gotten the gist of the chapter titles and themes by now, shame on you.   
  
My reason for putting everything simply in this chapter: big emotional issues. Big, complicated emotional issues. Best not to explain them--you can figure them out on your own, anyway. So instead of explaining every tiny little detail about this confrontation, I tried to put things as plainly as I could.  
  
And behold! There was a reference to the show! Second season, Scully was abducted, remember, y'all? Sore point with Mulder, isn't it? ::evil laughter::  
  
Author's note: Mulder and Scully's server, Remy LeChien, is a ridiculous allusion to X-Men's Remy Le*Beau,* whose last name means, roughly, "The handsome." I dare you to plug "Le Chien" into Babelfish, along with "Un reniflement." You're in for a laugh. That is, unless you don't already know what they both mean...  
  
I will give you a cyber-hug if you review... 


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